


No Familiar Dances

by theredhoodie



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Implied Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:05:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredhoodie/pseuds/theredhoodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no one in the dark but them, no one to hear their misguided thoughts or judge their silent insecurities. There was no one else to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Familiar Dances

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure what this is, I just had this idea and ran with it and it got all mushed up. Basically written within the movie 'verse of Lord of the Rings since I haven't read the books in too many years to try to place something within the context of them. You can take this however you want. I just needed a fic about the siblings.
> 
> Also, this was edited by myself, so any mistakes I apologize profusely for.

Éomer quietly entered the room. It was warm, too warm to sleep. The Hall was both full and empty, the anticipation for the following day stirring and stilling both the air and men's souls.

The swatch of light from the flickering torch in the corridor lit up the room before the door was closed, leaving nothing but the moonlight through the open window and one nearly burned out candle for light. There was enough light for him to see the figure of his sister lying on the straw and feather mattress, hands delicately pressed together under her cheek.

She looked angelic, perfect as always, although he knew that her personality was sharp like the sword she swung. Many times  _at_  him.

Within the last two years, Éowyn had taken it upon herself to lift a sword and learn how to use it. Éomer found her one of those days as she parried with a blunt blade, shifting her weight to the wrong limbs and causing herself to tip off balance. He interrupted to show her the proper way to wield the weapon and they had spent many late afternoons sparring until Éowyn was skilled enough to overtake him if he wasn't paying close enough attention. She was strong and swift and they often fell into the same patterns of blows and strikes that left them moving as if they were caught in the middle of a dance.

But there were no blades here, no familiar dances on light feet.

He moved over to the bed and sat himself at the edge. Éowyn's thin brows were knitted in sleep and he wondered what could be troubling her slumbering mind so much. She was laying on top of the thin blanket, pulled tightly over the mattress, the heat obviously too much for her as well.

The dim light exaggerated the shadows, the swell of her hip and the dip of her waist, her legs bent at the knee, golden hair spread out over the fluffed pillows. Éomer didn't wish to wake her, but found himself doing it anyway. He lightly laid his hand over her ankles, her skin warm to the touch.

She must have been on the edge of consciousness, because she let out a small muffled noise and twisted her torso, both of her shoulders making contact with the pillow. One hand lay against her abdomen, the other tucking itself under her head. Éomer stroked her leg with his thumb and it stirred her enough for her to crack open her eyes. At first there was nothing but a blur in her vision and then she realized someone was sitting there. Éowyn felt no panic, even before she realized it was the shape of her brother that she was seeing.

"Éomer?" she whispered, voice small from under use. Her smoothed brows furrowed once again. "What's the matter?" She moved to push herself up onto her elbows, forcing her eyes to focus on her brother's face. He appeared troubled.

"Nothing," he replied softly. "I couldn't sleep." It was half of the truth.

Éowyn sat up slowly, tucking her legs under her and grabbing the hand that had been resting on them. Her brother's hands were large and rough; hers were smaller, and less rough, but they were no high lady's hands. She had calluses from the swords she practiced with, just in case she ever needed to use one. She hadn't, not yet, but she feared that the world was growing riled and she would soon put her skills to the ultimate test.

"Are you worried about tomorrow?" she asked, moving her thumb in soft circles against his skin.

"I'm not worried," Éomer insisted. He wasn't. He was anxious. He was nearly twenty-one and had yet to leave Meduseld on Rohan's famous horses in a riding party. He had been waiting the past handful of years to do such a thing, yet he found himself conflicted with the thought of leaving Éowyn. They had been close as children, drifting after the death of their parents but during the last two years things had gotten better between them. Stronger. "Well…I am worried. About leaving you here all alone."

There was a hint of humor in his voice and Éowyn gave him a small smile. "I believe I will manage without my big brother to protect me," she said, laying her other hand over Éomer's. "I appreciate your concern."

"Oh." Éomer lifted his eyebrows. "It sounds like you won't even miss me."

"Not at all. I will, but that doesn't mean…you should be happy. You've been waiting long enough." They both know that Théoden had only wanted to keep his nephew, and niece for that matter, safe and away from harm, but there was only so much hold a man could have on another, especially one with willpower like Éomer's. He belonged out there in armor, riding horses and saving people, no matter the cost. The cost of which was one thing that Éowyn was not keen to dwell on. The very last thing she wanted to do was to imagine her brother dying, even doing what he felt was the most honorable.

"Why don't you stay?" she said suddenly, raising her pale eyes to meet his dark ones.

She didn't need to elaborate, he knew what she was asking. "We're not children any more."

"No one need know," Éowyn replied, her mind already made up. She released his hand and moved herself to the empty, cooler side of the bed just as the candle flickered out, the wick completely used up. "We can both  _not_  sleep in this weather anyway."

She looked at him with such genuine innocence that he couldn't resist. It didn't matter the heat; spending a last night with his sister was something Éomer hadn't allowed himself to know he wanted until she asked.

Swinging his legs onto the mattress, he laid back into the warm indent of her form. Éowyn's back was to the window, creating nothing but darkness on her face. She wasted no time lying back down. Both of them stayed on their backs, eyes toward the darkened ceiling.

"Do you know where you're going?" she asked after a long silence. She held her slender fingered hands over her stomach.

"I would rather not tell you," he replied, turning his head slightly in her direction.

Éowyn let her hand fall against the mattress between them, the back of her hand brushing against his. "Is that your way of saying you have no idea where it is you're going?" she teased.

He smiled, letting a laugh escape his lips. "Maybe," he admitted.

She laughed then and it was a heavenly sound, one that he would miss, especially since he didn't hear it all that often. They had little to laugh about here.

Éowyn took her bottom lip between her teeth and closed her eyes. "I'm going to miss you," she breathed out, opening her eyes and turning onto her side, lifting herself up onto her elbow. "No matter how long you're gone," she added, lifting her free hand to gently rest on the side of his face. "Who's going to keep my sword swinging up to battle ready?"

"I'm sure you'll find someone else," Éomer said, the words chipping away at himself. He was worth so much to his sister…but he was worth so much more to his land and the people of Rohan.

A small frown encompassed her face, as she struggled with decisions that no average young woman should have to deal with. She didn't speak and the words hung in the air like shards of glass. Éowyn brushed her thumb over Éomer's stubbly cheek before dipping her head to kiss him. There was more in the kiss than she could say, or even be  _allowed_  to say, but within the darkness of her room, there was no one else to know.

Eyes squeezed shut, she scooted down the mattress and rested her head on Éomer's shoulder, his arm circling around, fingers pressing against her ribcage through thin fabric.

"What was that for?" he asked after too long a pause. The words felt heavy and awkward.

"Good luck," she replied simply, dropping her hand from his face and resting is over his heart.

"I don't leave for hours," Éomer pointed out.

"I know."

He didn't object or say anything more about it. He only shifted on the mattress and kept his arm around her, pulling her closer so that she was pressed against his side. It took a matter of moments before they were a mess of limbs. His hand clutching hers to his chest, his cheek against her hair, one of her legs resting over one of his.

And they didn't care. They were close and it was too warm to be this close but it might be the last time. He could feel her heartbeat through his ribcage, and she could feel his in her hand. They said nothing more and the minutes ticked by. They felt comfortable and safe and close.

It was as much as either of them would allow themselves to feel.


End file.
